


Sick Day

by FrizzleFry



Category: Storm Keeper Series - Catherine Doyle
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Nausea, Sick Character, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 17:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrizzleFry/pseuds/FrizzleFry
Summary: Fionn is sick but thankfully his mom is there for him.





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't really any fandom yet for these books, but they're amazing, so I thought being teh first to write for it would be fun.

Fionn Boyle lay groaning on the couch, clutching his stomach. It felt like parts of his insides were eating each other alive and paid no mind to the fact that he'd be the one paying for their antics. His face was pale and sweaty. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead.  
“I'll never eat anything Tara cooked again,” he said, his voice weak, as his mother entered the room with a hot water bottle, a cloth and a bucket in her hands. The hot water bottle was meant to look like a teddy bear and it was slightly deformed. She set the bucket down next to his couch and handed him the bottle. He pulled away the sheets, shuddering from the cold seeping into his body and stuffed the almost teddy bear into his pajama top before burying himself in a bunch of blankets again. It almost felt too hot but feeling the heat against his skin, seeping deeper and deeper into him made him feel at least a little bit better.  
His mother wiped the cloth on his forehead before patting his head. Her hand felt soft and comforting as she played with his hair.  
Suddenly he bolted up with a start. The sheets partially fell off him and cold seeped back into him but he didn't care.  
One of the parts of his intestines seemed to have won the battle, relishing in it's victory by moving on to dispose of the body parts of it's victim, ejecting them from his body.  
His mother, guessing what was to come, reached for the bucket and sat it down on his lap.  
His stomach churned. He bent down, his face above the bucket. Nothing. He gagged and coughed, but nothing came out.  
He was about to put the bucket away, declare a false alarm, celebrate the fact he is stronger than whatever bad food he ate, but it immediately started beating against his throat again. He bent down again. More gagging. Another false alarm. Then more pressure. This time he felt it come up through his throat. The taste on his tongue was rancid even before it entered his mouth. It got worse when he felt it. The vomit spilled out of him. He kept gagging and another batch of it came out. It went on like that for what felt like minutes. He could feel his mothers hand on his back. The comfort of the touch made it just a little bit more bearable. He could still breathe every so often but it was hard to time. At one point he miscalculated and felt a burning in his nose. Having vomit coming out of your nose must be the grossest thing to ever happen to anyone he would decide at a later point in his life when he reflected back upon this. Right now all he could think about was how much he wanted it to be over with. A few moments later it was. He was empty. His gagging didn't bring forth any more of the contents of his stomach. He kept pushing for a few more moments in the hope of ejecting the taste and smell from his body but that was in vain.  
He looked up and his mother handed him a glass of water. He took a sip, swirled it around in his mouth for a few seconds and then spat it into the bucket. He took a second sip and swallowed. Never before had he been this thankful for water to exist. His mother wiped the vomit that was dripping from his face away with the cloth and took the bucket away. He lied back down and she gave him a kiss on the forehead. Then he turned to his side, facing away from her.  
“Are you feeling a little better?” she asked and he gave a quiet “I guess” as a response.  
The hot water bottle still felt almost too hot but he wouldn't miss it. He held onto it more tightly, pressing it against himself. With tiredness finally winning starting to win him over he felt himself disappear into dark and his body melt into the warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. Leave a comment if you got any feedback.


End file.
